


Parisian Conclave

by BlushingRojas



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Not Professional Skater! Katsuki Yuuri, Polyglot! Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 10:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushingRojas/pseuds/BlushingRojas
Summary: Even though Katsuki Yuuri never pursued his childhood dream of professional figure skating, it does not, by any means, signify that his rather serendipitous meeting with Victor will never occur. Rather, it means Yuuri will grow into someone else; someone in which his anxiety does not command him. As it stands, Yuuri’s meeting with Victor is set in stone, and the fates were never picky with how or when the two would meet, rather that they eventually would.Starts when Yuuri is young and progresses from there.





	Parisian Conclave

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I want to give a huge shoutout to my best-friend and Beta, [wishuponastarr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishuponastarr/pseuds/wishuponastarr), for being this huge motivator and giving me endless love and support as I wrote this. She's been great, helping me tirelessly as I bounced idea after idea at her, rebuffing some and encouraging others, and for fixing the grammatical mistakes that I couldn't catch. She's been my Ass-Kicker (yes, in all-caps) for when I lazed around and did nothing.
> 
> However, never let it be said that she is my impulse-control. Starr, you fucker, you encourage too many of my outlandish ideas for _other_ stories.  
> So, then, let us start the Crossroads Arc!

When Yuuri’s young and still growing a thought comes to him like an epiphany: he would never skate on the same ice as Victor Nikiforov. The thought makes Yuuri pause the movement of his pen on his homework paper, to pause writing entirely after seconds pass, and to lean back on his chair and stare at the ceiling of his bedroom in deep contemplation. He knows, for a fact, that his skating is lacking, it’s _lackluster_ . It’s dull, too stiff, and he’s too much of a nervous wreck for actually being foolish enough to even _dare_ to think that he could perform with so many eyes scrutinizing his every move. To judge his jumps, his spins, and step-sequences (which truly, is the _only_ thing he’s truly awfully good at) only for him to end up botching his program.

Then, perhaps, Yuuri _isn’t_ made to be a professional figure skater, and that’s alright.

 _It’s okay_.

So Yuuri’s hell-bent obsession to achieve skating on some level that matched Victor Nikiforov’s came to a trickling halt after that revelation that late evening. However, because skating had once consumed his life entirely day in and out, Yuuri has to fill this absent, almost aching, part of his body that yearns for him to throw himself into something else entirely or else he’d feel an itching need to do _something, anything_. He’d grow too restless and that is never a good thing.

It comes to Yuuri and, much like the revelation of him never being good enough to have his feet grace upon the same ice as Nikiforov, he _understands_ . There had never been something he needed to specifically search to fill that aching gap that skating left behind, but rather, it is a thing in which he is already interested in beforehand. _Before_ figure-skating had taken the wheel and made his other hobby take the backseat.

 _English._ Yuuri loves learning the language, so different than that of his mother-tongue yet so widespread and so popular. It’s a language that has made people gain popularity points just for knowing a few words, let alone being fluent in it. Genuinely, Yuuri believes he can learn it inside and out if he just focuses, and perhaps he could learn another language as well? It’s all just so fascinating to him, the different ways people can string letters into words, and words into sentences. There are conjugations as well, and the way it made his throat feel funny, with his tongue contorting differently than what he is used to for Japanese. It’s exhilarating, it’s freeing, and it’s exactly what Yuuri needs to take his mind off of matters of life.

So Yuuri saves up his weekly allowance from helping around his family’s onsen and buys himself some books in English. He already has a slight grasp of the language but being fully immersed in it is another matter entirely. He buys four books in total, one on grammar and sentence structure, a dictionary from Japanese to English, and then purchases the same book twice but one being in his mother tongue and another being in English. Struggling through it all, Yuuri manages to finish the book to some degree of understanding, and he immediately tries it again, and again, over and over. They’re all children length books, sometimes with pictures in them, and with easy words to follow; but then Yuuri moves on to reading novels such as Harry Potter. He reads the Japanese version first and then trudges and soldiers his way on with the English version, the original version now that he reflects on it. He knows what’s supposed to happen, and fills in the gaps of the words he does not know by using his Japanese to English dictionary with the exceptionally hard words he could not for the life of him infer the meaning of with the surrounding words.

Yuuri still skates to decompress, but he isn’t as hard on himself when he flubs a step-sequence or a minor jump, he just picks himself up and dusts himself off with a small smile directed at Yuu-chan to let her know he isn’t about to break out in frustrated tears or be too hard on himself. Yuuri hasn’t outright told anyone his decision to not compete professionally anymore, that that isn’t his goal anymore. Yuuri’s afraid that his family will be disappointed in him for giving up on such an (unlikely, time-consuming) ambition.

Only time will tell that his fears are unfounded.

_(They are.)_

It’s early on a Saturday morning. Sun filters in through the window between the curtains and Yuuri wakes slowly before he squints his eyes as he sits upright on his bed, smacking his dry lips against one another. Tiredly, he leans to the side, to the left, and falls back onto his bed with a groan. Sunlight protests his intentions of sleeping in as it somehow _screams_ onto his eyes to wake up. Yuuri groans once more and rolls out of his bed, the dull thump of him hitting the tatami mats of his room is such a common occurrence during the weekend that his family pays it no mind. Yuuri eventually picks himself up from the floor and blindly makes the two-step journey needed to his desk to retrieve his glasses. He swipes his hand side-to-side to feel for his eyewear and groggily places them on the bridge of his nose once he finds them. He blinks as the world around him comes into focus and absentmindedly raises a hand to cover the yawn that escapes past his lips.

Yuuri takes a good look at the walls of his room and grimaces. The walls are covered in the earliest and latest posters of the rising figure skating star: Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri rubs the grime of his eyes away with the ball of his hand, making his glasses go crooked. He aligns them back on his nose and makes his way to one of his walls. There, carefully, he starts peeling the corner of the poster off making sure to take care of not ripping it or damaging it in any way. He peels the tape off from the corners of the poster as well before setting the poster down on the bed. Victor Nikiforov’s eyes are as cold as a Russian winter as they stare up at him, almost as if accusing him of not following his prior ambition of figure skating on a professional level.

“Shut up,” murmurs Yuuri snappishly without the venom. Look at him, having one-sided conversations with a _poster_ of all things and still managing to lose, what a joke. He turns on his heel and continues on peeling the posters off of his walls, leaving them bare when he’s done. All the posters are rolled up with a rubber band tied around each of them and placed in the small crook between the wall and his desk, out of sight but certainly in a place where no one would suspect.

Yuuri opens a window to allow fresh air to filter in and makes his bed, lest his okaa-san gripe at him for not having a clean room. _After all,_ she would say, _a clean room makes for a clean mind!_

Yuuri changes into a fresh set of clothes, plain-looking jinbei and they’re perfect to help around the onsen in. Yuuri pads his way down his family’s hallway, a separate wing entirely from the onsen and its guests. He makes his way to the bathroom to do his morning routine, and when that is done he heads on down to the main area of the onsen to start cleaning around, after a quick breakfast of course.

His okaa-san smiles at him as he enters the kitchen, though she clicks her tongue when she sees his appearance. Yuuri looks down and feels around his face, does he appear haggard or something along those lines? Unkempt, perhaps?

Instead, she hands him breakfast and sits with him as she drinks her tea. He finishes and cleans his dishes, and turns to leave to start his day cleaning the onsen when his mother clicks her tongue again and he pauses at the doorway. He turns around to see her amused face.

“ _Yuu_ -kun,” she stresses out his name, “did you forget?”

Yuuri tries to remember, and his face scrunches up in thought before he sighs and shrugs helplessly. He forgot, apparently.

Okaa-san laughs that merry and joyous laugh of hers, and it’s like bathing in the sun during a cool Spring day when you hear it. “Oh, Yuu-kun, it’s your day off from helping around the onsen today. You’ve been such a dear in helping around during your summer break, and we know you finished all of your summer homework already, we’re proud of you. We thought you might want to take a break, however, from helping out. Go out, hang out with your friends, it’ll be okay!”

“But—!” he starts, then stops. A break from the onsen would finally allow him to sit down and continue reading the fourth book of the Harry Potter series, the Goblet of Fire, and that’s a long enough as it is. He’s less than halfway through it in the English version. He made the decision to not buy the Japanese version until he read the English version in full, and so far he is understanding the general gist of it all, far better than he would have a couple months ago that’s for certain. On one hand, he feels pretty guilty just leaving his parents to run the onsen with only them running it, seeing as his onee-chan is out in Tokyo with her friends for the weekend. On the other hand, he _really wants_ to read some of his book some more.

Guiltily, he asks, “Are you sure?”

“As long as you’re out of the onsen,” she says with a smile, “go out and get some fresh air, alright?”

“If you’re sure,” he furrows his brows, though he makes no moves to leave.

His okaa-san stands and kisses him on the crown of his head, “Go on,” she nudges him a little, “it’s your day off! Like I said, go have some fun. Be back by seven, alright? Other than that the day is yours.”

“Alright,” Yuuri agrees, at last, giving his okaa-san a hug in thanks and heading to his room to change into some clothes appropriate for his day out. He settles for some khaki shorts and a red short sleeved t-shirt. He grabs his bag and stuffs his books in it, the dictionary of Japanese to English and the Goblet of Fire. Before he walks out of his room the sun hits his eyes harshly and he turns to grab one of his hats He leaves the onsen after calling out to his father a quick goodbye when he sees him near the foyer before bounding his way down the steps of Yu-topia. He makes good time and is chasing seagulls out of the beach gleefully in no time with his bag securely on his back. Yuuri’s jogging by the waterside, his gaze on the ocean before him when he unexpectedly bumps into someone.

And by bump into, Yuuri truly means _crash_ into someone. It’s a painful experience and his elbow digs into the junction of the person’s ribs and stomach, which has to be uncomfortable and not to mention unbelievably _painful_. Yuuri feels his shirt being fisted by the person, and they’re breathing as harshly as he is. There’s a dull ache on his forehead and Yuuri can distantly recall them butting heads after their impact. He’s glad he stuffed his hat into his bag before he started running.

“ _S-sorry_ ,” the person, a foreigner who is a _girl_ , gasps out in English. She unclenches her hand from his shirt and grits her teeth in pain. “You okay?”

“‘M fine,” manages Yuuri. There’s a thick accent to his English, but he’s confident enough to hold a decent conversation at the very least. He moves backward until he’s off the poor girl, though his legs still feel too shaky to try and stand. “You?”

“Just sand in uncomfortable places,” she grimaces, rubs her ribs and comments, “you have a sharp elbow.”

“I’m sorry,” apologizes Yuuri, feeling a swell of regret for hurting the girl, unintentional as it was.

She offers him a smile, and it’s not even strained with pain this time, “No permanent harm done.”

They sit in awkward silence before the girl coughs and shuffles about until she’s closer to Yuuri with her legs tucked underneath her. She extends a hand and Yuuri tentatively grasps it, “I’m Rocio Iglesias,” she introduces herself, “sorry for running into you again, it’s a pleasure to meet you, however.”

“Katsuki Yuuri,” he says back automatically. “I still feel… _horrible_ for running into you.”

She grins, “That makes two of us. Also, your English is very good.”

“Ah,” Yuuri blinks, the answer had been unexpected, “thank you.”

“Can I make it up to you?” asks Iglesias-san, lurching her weight backward and unto her feet, standing from her position on the sand. She offers him a hand with a kind smile, Yuuri grasps it (this time with more confidence) and allows her to pull him forward to his feet. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

Yuuri wants to decline, but there’s a hopeful glint in Iglesias-san’s eyes that he swallows his usual shyness down and accepts. So that’s how Yuuri, at ten years old, follows a girl perhaps around his own age or older into a French-themed café with her paying for his tea and cookies, much to his askance, and she herself getting tea and a croissant. He tried to tell her to let him pay for his part, but she had been adamant about paying for the both of them. _‘As a show of goodwill_ , _’_ she explained when he had asked. Whatever that meant. Now they’re both sitting next to the windows on a two-person table, sipping their drinks occasionally and munching on their choice of sweet.

“What should I call you?” asks Iglesias-san, “I understand you use honorifics, and I wouldn’t want to be rude, so how should I call you?”

That’s… actually very considerate of her.

“My family name is Katsuki,” starts Yuuri, “but my… given? Yes, given. My given name is Yuuri. Only close friends and family members can call me Yuuri with the honorific ‘kun’ or ‘chan’ but in this case, you would call by my family name with the honorific ‘san’ so you would call me ‘Katsuki-san.’”

Iglesias-san nods her head as if understanding, and then she asks, “What do the different honorifics mean?”

Yuuri thinks on how to explain it, and finds his answer some seconds later, “‘San’ is like the English word ‘Mr.’ or ‘Mrs.’ and I think ‘Ms.’, think of it as the go-to for honorifics.” Iglesias-san nods. “So, in turn, ‘kun’ is used informally, is that the right word?”

Iglesias-san furrows her brows at his question, before answering, “The word is right, and I think your usage of the word is right as well, so yes, it’s correct.”

Yuuri continues after her confirmation, “As I was saying, ‘kun’ is used informally and mostly for males, from, eto, you use it to someone younger than you?” Yuuri doesn’t know how else to explain it. “Like, there’s a boy, or sometimes even a girl, younger than you, you would use ‘kun’ after their family or given name. It all depends how close you are to them. There are other honorifics, but those are the main ones?”

Iglesias-san nods once again. “Yeah, that makes sense. So, would you refer to me as ‘Iglesias-san’?”

“Yes, exactly!” Yuuri exclaims in a hushed voice, mindful that they’re inside an establishment. “You are catching on.”

“Thank you for explaining it to me,” she reciprocates, “I’ve only been in Japan for a half a week and I have a week more to go. I’ll admit,” she leaned in all conspiratorial like, “I didn’t research Japanese customs all that much,” she leaned back on her chair, “father said it would be half a week for vacation, and it was my turn to chose, and I thought what better than natural hot springs? But his company got ahold of him being in Japan and they set up a meeting for him all the way up in Tokyo. He had to go up and attend meetings while Mother, the twins and I stayed behind to still enjoy this town. So, in other words, that’s why the trip got extended.”

“Where are you staying?” asks Yuuri. Has she been staying on one of the other onsens in the area? Though the other onsen were slowly but surely trickling down in numbers as they closed down, permanently.

“In a small cottage, by the beachside,” she answers earnestly. “You wouldn’t happen to know the best hot springs in town, would you? I’ve been here for half a week and all I’ve done is anything but visit the hot springs.”

“Onsen,” he mildly corrects her, and she repeats the word after him which earns her an approving nod from Yuuri. “My family actually owns an onsen, so I will be—” he stops because the word he needs is not coming to mind.

“Biased?” offers Iglesias-san. Yuuri grins at her in thanks.

“Biased, yes.”

“Well,” she starts and then sips on her tea for a quick second, “I wouldn’t mind some bias.”

And so Yuuri tells her about his family’s onsen, Yu-topia, and how it’s also his home. He explains how it’s all natural, and how soothing the waters are. He tells her about the myth that the waters have rejuvenating powers to them, leaving many that enter them feel and ‘become’ younger than they are. As if some years were just stripped away from their bodies and into the water. He talks about his chores, and how his mother gave him the day off today to enjoy some fresh air outside of the onsen. He explains how he had planned to read some chapters of the book he has with his day off, and with a certain excitable glint in her eyes, she asks what book it is.

“Harry Potter,” she urges him to expand, and he does, “the Goblet of Fire.”

“It’s a great book,” she gushes, “I read the majority of the books two years ago when I was eleven and had to wait until July to read the Goblet of Fire. I love reading, it’s a great way to escape reality for a bit, isn’t it?”

Yuuri has to bob his head in agreement because he finds her statement entirely truthful.

“What part are you at?” she queries and then takes a final sip of her tea.

“Eto,” Yuuri thinks back on it since he hasn’t read in a few days, almost a week, “the second task. Harry saved Fleur’s little sister and Ron.”

“Hm,” she hums, setting her teacup down, “the book is great, just you wait until the third task.”

Yuuri can almost see her physically restrain herself from telling him some more, and he’s glad that she isn’t spouting spoilers to him. It’d be a shame for Yuuri for the book to be spoiled and he’d lose the drive to continue on.

“I can’t wait,” he says, and she smiles from behind her croissant that she’s munching on. They keep conversing in hushed voices, and she ends up buying them another round of tea as their conversation turns to languages.

“English isn’t my mother tongue,” she confesses.

Yuuri leans forward, intrigued, “Really? But you sound like a natural American!” and of course Yuuri’s own English sounds like garbage to him. He still quite can’t pronounce the Rs correctly.

“Really,” she says, “I was born in Argentina, so my mother tongue is actually Spanish. But I moved to the United States when I was very young, I think I was around five at the time? So, while I speak Spanish at home, I actually speak English more frequently, especially outside of my home.”

“That is really cool,” says Yuuri.

“What about you?” she asks, “What got you into studying English?”

“I always found it, well,” he blushes, “it’s always been so _cool_ to know and understand English here in Japan.”

“But you’re way beyond someone your age!” she exclaims and then ducks her head when some patrons throw her heated looks. “ _Sorry_ ,” she whispers, abashed.

“Thank you,” he whispers back, still feeling some of the disapproving stares of the patrons thrown at his acquaintance.

“I think we should go,” she whispers back, standing.

“I agree,” he murmurs as he stands with her.

They leave the café and by the time they’re rounding the corner does Iglesias-san start tittering with suppressed giggles. Her laugh is infectious, for soon Yuuri is joining her in laughing. Their laughs are not pretty laughs, but instead one full of snorts and coughs and hacking because of lack of air. His stomach is in stitches by the end of it, and Yuuri can imagine Iglesias-san’s stomach in stitches too. Yuuri hasn’t this much fun in, well, in a while. The only time he feels this carefree is when he’s with Yuu-chan, and she’s gone for the week to Osaka to visit some extended family for a wedding.

“It’s been fun hanging out with you,” says Iglesias-san once they’ve calmed the last of their wayward giggles down. “Even if you have sharp elbows.” In jest and irony, she elbows his side.

Feeling much more confident, Yuuri swats her hand away and she laughs.

“I had fun,” Yuuri agrees. Boldly, he adds, “We should meet up again.”

Her brown eyes light up at his suggestion, and her grin widens. “That’s a great idea, Kat-suki-san!”

“Katsuki,” he corrects mildly, but he’s beaming too much to care.

“Katsuki,” she repeats correctly this time, beaming as well. She starts walking down the street again and Yuuri quickly follows, “So where should we meet for tomorrow?”

“The bridge,” he says immediately, “the one connecting the North and Southside.”

She nods, and he knows she understands. “Okay,” she agrees, “the bridge.”

They talk some more, with Iglesias-san explaining what the United States is like and the shows she enjoys. She also explains to him some idioms of the English language, which he finds weird but just nods along and asks her to write them down for him. She readily agrees and tells him she’ll have a list ready for him by tomorrow for their outing. She starts to squint as the sun hits them with intensity, and Yuuri can see a bruise forming on her forehead from their crash meeting at the beach. Feeling guilty and at fault, Yuuri offers her his hat.

She settles the cap on her head, but not before commenting, “The Yankees? Didn’t take you for a baseball fan.”

“I’m not,” he says, “but my sister bought it before realizing she would never wear it. She gave it to me instead.”

“Nice,” is all she says for the matter.

Yuuri then walks her to the two-story cottage she’s currently staying at and she invites him inside, he’s about to decline when a crash is heard. Yelling soon follows and then the thumps of feet running. Yuuri peers over at Iglesias-san face and sees a deadpan expression gracing her countenance.

She turns to him and says, “That’s the twins, means mother must’ve stepped out for a minute,” she then mutters lowly, “ _or a few hours._ ”

There’s another crash, and soon an indescriptive screaming match follows. Iglesias-san opens the door and screams back, her face growing steadily more taut, and her hands are moving swiftly and succinctly even when the people that should be in the midst of her passionate hand movements are not anywhere near in vicinity. She yells at the top of her lungs once again as thumps of feet patter about and another crash is soon heard, more screaming, and then, silence. There’s suspicion conveyed in her mien, and she turns to give Yuuri a wry smile.

“That’s my cue to go,” she gestures to the inside of the cottage, and there’s silence as opposed to the screaming match only heard just seconds ago that spans for a few seconds too long. Iglesias-san pales and bids Yuuri a quick goodbye. She disappears behind the door and Yuuri doesn’t want to stick around to hear another legendary screaming match of the Iglesias family, from what he can conclude at least. So, Yuuri makes haste in heading home after that. After all, Yuuri spent the majority of his day with Iglesias-san and getting to know the foreign girl.

She’s certainly, _different_ , Yuuri decides with a smile as he walks down the street, heading to the bridge and towards Southside where the Onsen resides. A good different. Iglesias-san is very considerate, asking about honorifics and how she should call him, even allowing him to correct her when she mispronounced his name. Though his tongue certainly feels funny after all the English he talked today. He isn’t accustomed to speaking a foreign language for hours on end, but it did make his chest swell in pride whenever he thought back on their conversations and how fluid they were. Years of him learning English at school at a so-so level and the past year or so of heavy revisioning had certainly helped and come to play today. However, now all that there is left to do is to read a few chapters of his book once he gets home and then get ready for bed. And, of course, thank his mother for his day off as he tells her about his new acquaintance — _can he call her a friend?_ — that he made today.

From what Yuuri could tell today, Iglesias-san is very outgoing and friendly person. She also seems to be very loud when she wants to be, looking back on the screaming match she partook with her siblings. But that powerful bellow of hers shows that she has a voice and is not afraid to use it. She appears to be almost fluid like, with what Yuuri talked to her about at least. She views books as an escape from life, from what Yuuri could gather so far, and has ten books in her suitcase, six of which she has read — or re-read, in some cases like the second, third, and fourth book of the Harry Potter series — which says a lot to how much she reads. She explained, or more like bemoaned, the fact that her books for her extended holiday will only tide her over for so many re-reads. She’s already slowing her reading as it stands. Yuuri told her there’s a small bookstore nearby, where they sell books in other languages, in which he buys his own books in English to read.

Her eyes had lit up and they appeared to be like molten chocolate in the sunlight. Iglesias-san had thanked him profusely. That would be one of their stops tomorrow.

Yuuri is almost by the steps of his family’s onsen when two Junior High students step in his path. He’s nervous, these were the boys that constantly jeered at him for his weight or mocked him when he’d walk home and pass the park bench where the two boys met and sat at. They usually didn’t try anything outside of school time, much less make an effort during summer break, so why did they deviate from their usual schedule?

“If it isn’t the pig,” jeers one. It’s Tanaka Itsuki, the one who usually instigates the name-picking toward Yuuri. Looks like the one thing they would not deviate from would be as to who would lead their little entourage of two. Tanaka Itsuki rounds up behind Yuuri, like a prey playing with his meal, and Yuuri whirls around. “All out here, _alone._ ”

The other bully, because that’s the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks of them, steps up. Yuuri takes a step back, his heel hitting the first step of Yu-Topia making him fall backward. They’re closing in on him, and Yuuri flinches back when the burly one, Nakamura Hideaki, leans in close. Yuuri closes his eyes, only to snap them open when his bag is harshly taken from him. It causes him to fall a step, and scratch his lower back in the process.

Nakamura Hideaki tosses Yuuri’s worn bag to Tanaka Itsuki. He watches in horror as he pulls out Yuuri’s pristine hardcover book of the Goblet of Fire. The lead bully raises a mocking brow in his direction and flips the book open on a random page. He fingers the page before smirking in Yuuri’s direction. Yuuri can only watch in horror as he rips the page from the spine. Tanaka Itsuki crumples the page in his hand and allows it to fall to the dirty sidewalk. Yuuri’s brown eyes follow its descent with wide eyes. He continues to rip pages from the book without a care and then tosses the torn novel behind his shoulder and into a muddy puddle on the street.

“Look at me, piggy,” Tanaka Itsuki commands, and Yuuri does as he is told. Because what else is there to do other than to follow the bully’s command and lessen his humiliation and destruction of his possessions? “Good, now listen and be quiet. I saw the girl you were hanging out with today, the foreigner?”

Yuuri nods because the knot in his throat prevents him from saying anything.

“So you understand, I want something.” Tanaka Itsuki got in Yuuri’s personal space, his breath reeking of tobacco and hints of alcohol. “I,” he prods a finger at Yuuri’s forehead, “want you to set me up with the girl.”

_Does he want to be with Iglesias-san?_

Yuuri swallows the bile that rises up his throat and ignores the way his heart feels as if a snake wound itself around it and constricted his heart’s beat significantly. With the courage gathered from his day with Iglesias-san, Yuuri quietly answers in negative. “ _No._ ”

Him being bullied is only ever at best superficial. Usually just cutting words do the trick to make Yuuri’s eyes water with unshed tears. _It’s only ever been words_ . So when a fist swings and Yuuri’s cheek smarts like crazy, his head snapped to the side, does Yuuri reconsider that they’ve been holding out on him for some reason. Yuuri never feared his bullies becoming physical, never even dared to _imagine_ it. Perhaps it’s Yuuri who’s at fault, for being as naïve as to think that the bullying would ever spiral out of his control. The sting on his cheek is now a grim reminder of his naïvety. Tanaka Itsuki leans in close once more and Yuuri grimaces lightly, turning his head away from the stench of tobacco.

“Listen here,” Tanaka Itsuki grips Yuuri’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing the younger boy to stare into slightly deranged brown eyes. _They’re bloodshot_ , observes Yuuri. He has heard his mother complain many times over about kids barely older than he already smoking on curves and in dark corners in groups at times. More often than not, Yuuri has been told to never change and to never smoke like _‘those hooligans.’_ As if Yuuri would ever do so, it looks like a miserable way to live. “You’re going to help me get into that girl’s pants, alright?”

Yuuri sputters, _what?!_

He finds his voice not much later, lurching away from Tanaka Itsuki’s tight grasp. “What? No! Absolutely not!” He’s heard of Tanaka Itsuki’s ways, and in no way is he about to help him.

Tanaka Itsuki snarls at Yuuri, grabbing him by his shoulder and _presses down_ . Yuuri cries out as a thumb is jammed in the junction between his collarbone and neck. It would be an uncomfortable feeling with just a bit a pressure added, but the way Tanaka-baka — because he is, of course, an idiot, or a moron if you prefer, for being a bully, but he’s a _strong_ moron — is pressing down makes his shoulder _ache_ and scream in protest at the odd pressure.

Nakamura Hideaki looks vaguely uncomfortable with how the situation has escalated, and when he opens his mouth to intervene, Tanaka-baka snaps his head to stare the other down and say in a low voice, “ _Stand down_.”

Nakamura Hideaki, unfortunately, does as he is told. Though his eyes widen minutely when Tanaka-baka turns his attention back to Yuuri.

Just as Yuuri fears that he’ll get beat once again, someone wrenches Tanaka-baka from Yuuri, and the young boy scrambles up the steps to get away from the bully as fast as he is able. Though, he doesn’t ascent all the way to the building. He doesn’t turn and flee even though he dearly wishes he would, he’s frozen in place. Unable to move, but hyper-aware of all the happenings going on, Yuuri can only watch as a classmate of his confronts Tanaka-baka. They’re of the same stature, because for all the posturing Tanaka-baka does he isn’t tall, and all he has going for him truly from what Yuuri can account for is the — what appears to be compelled or forced — support of the burly Nakamura Hideaki.

“I believe that is enough.” Yuuri’s classmate insists, eyes hardening when Tanaka-baka growls.

“When I say it’s enough is when I stop,” says instead Tanaka-baka. Matsuda Akira’s eyes narrow at the Junior High student threateningly, at this the bully clicks his tongue and turns on his heel. “Nakamura-kun, let’s go.”

Nakamura Hideaki murmurs a low, “Yes,” before following.

It’s only when the bullies (bully? Tanaka-baka seems like the only one that gets a kick out of this) cross the street and round a corner that Matsuda Akira relaxes. Yuuri sees his shoulders, tense as they had been, slump as if the weight of the world is finally off of his shoulders for the moment. Yuuri’s tall classmate turns and looks up to where Yuuri’s at on the steps.

“You alright?” asks Matsuda-san, approaching him slowly as if he’s afraid Yuuri’ll bolt away into the safety of his family’s onsen.

“‘M fine,” but he isn’t. His cheek is burning something furious now and his stomach clenches with all the leftover nerves from the encounter. There’s this perpetual feeling of vertigo and he can barely stand upright. Maybe he could butt-scooch it one step at a time so that vertigo wouldn’t make the world tilt sideways? But, then again, Matsuda-san is already by his side and plopping himself next to Yuuri.

“Liar.”

And perhaps Yuuri is. To himself and others. For goodness sake, he hasn’t even told his family that he doesn’t plan to go professional. It’s a stupid lie, but a lie nonetheless.

It’s cowardly.

 _He’s_ cowardly.

“Try again,” says Matsuda-san.

Yuuri huffs, and peers to the side to his classmate sitting next to him. Brown eyes, a shade or two darker than his own, stare back and they lock eyes. There’s emotion swirling in them and one is prominent: it’s compassion. Yuuri has the sudden urge to choke back his tears. He doesn’t do so because clenching his eyes shut, in this situation, would mean tensing his cheeks. Instead, his tears flow freely and he’s allowing these weird, staccato-like sobs to escape past his lips. It makes his chest ache more and his breathing erratic. Matsuda-san places his hand on Yuuri’s back, between his shoulder blades, and rubs his thumb back and forth in a soothing gesture.

Back and forth.

Breathe _in_ and _out_.

Back and forth.

“It’s okay for things to not be okay,” explains Matsuda-san as Yuuri does his breathing exercises, “and despite that our country and peers want us to conform to society's standards, it’s okay to be different too. To feel different emotions and to embrace them at times.”

Yuuri has never one to cuss, but he wants to call Matsuda-san out and say _bullshit_.

Absolute _bullshit_.

“Not conforming,” starts Yuuri with a shaky breath in, “means more of _this_.”

“No,” his classmate shakes his head, “it means the start of _change_.”

Silence, and then: “They’ll keep coming after me.”

A beat. “I know.”

Yuuri confides, “I’m not strong to go up against Tanaka Itsuki.” He’s not. While Yuuri is a far cry from frail, he’s still not strong enough to go up against a Junior High student. His arms, while not gangly but fairly large, don’t have much muscle to them to pack a decent punch. His midsection has flab and his thighs touch enough. He’s not obese, but he isn’t fit either.

“You don’t need to be.” Matsuda-san rebuffs and stands, “You just have to be smarter.”

Cheekily, Yuuri mutters lowly, “ _I would hope so_.”

Matsuda-san laughs and proffers his hand to help him up. It’s like an invitation, like acceptance of one to the other. The hand signifies too much for it to just mean too little. Almost as if Yuuri has been swimming in search for a shore and a beacon of light from a lighthouse guides him the final few strokes there.

So, Yuuri takes it.


End file.
